


In Vino

by Mireille



Category: Avengers Assemble (Cartoon)
Genre: Communication Failure, Eventual Fluff, Excessive Drinking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23411749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mireille/pseuds/Mireille
Summary: Tony knows he did something stupid last night, stupid enough that Steve's avoiding him now.He just doesn't knowwhat.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 244





	In Vino

**Author's Note:**

> As is so often true, this was written because soft_princess wanted to see it. <3

****

Tony would be the first to admit that he'd earned every bit of his reputation as a playboy, but he didn't usually let himself get drunk, these days.

Definitely not _this_ drunk. You never knew when Hydra or AIM or the Squadron Supreme were going to come out of the woodwork spoiling for a fight, and while Tony hated to lose a fight for any reason, he would hate it even more if the reason he lost was that he was too drunk to see straight. 

He was making an exception tonight, though. The rest of the team could handle the small talk and socializing that would leave a positive impression of the Avengers. Especially since Hulk and Thor were back at the tower; nobody with half a brain would invite Hulk to a formal gala, and Thor had decided to keep him company. 

That left Tony free to apply his superior intellect to the problem of finding the most efficient way of getting blackout drunk. 

Steve usually avoided these things; Steve usually avoided any event that he couldn't show up to in the Captain America get-up. "At least that's comfortable," Steve had said earlier tonight, scowling at himself in a mirror. "I'm just a guy from Brooklyn. I don't belong at some swanky party, and I look stupid in this fancy suit." 

Tony's attempt to convince him that he looked fine in the suit met with limited success, but Steve had to concede the first point. This was a fundraiser for a charity providing scholarships for the children of dead or disabled veterans, and they were honoring Steve for the work he'd been doing for them. Steve couldn't back out of this. 

And so there was Steve, in a perfectly-tailored tuxedo, making conversation with someone from the mayor's office. 

Steve, looking heart-stoppingly gorgeous in that damn tuxedo, was going to be the death of him. 

They all cleaned up pretty well. Sam looked awkward and a little shy, but then, he was young and this was his first event like this. Clint had actually made an effort; his tux wasn't even purple, though his tie and cummerbund were. Natasha was even more beautiful than usual in her formal gown and elegant hairstyle.

But Steve looked amazing. Stunning. _Edible_ , though Tony was going to blame that particular adjective on the whiskey. He didn't go around thinking of Steve as edible, ordinarily. 

Not when he was in public, at least. 

Steve must have realized that Tony was staring at him; he turned to look at him, a questioning look on his face. Tony shook his head quickly; he knew Steve was wondering if there was some kind of problem. 

And there was, but there wasn't anything Steve could do about it. 

Steve came over anyway, because Tony had the worst luck in the universe right now. "I thought I was the one who was supposed to hate things like this?"

Tony tossed back the last of his drink and signaled to the bartender for another. "I," he said, maybe a little too loudly, "am having a great time." 

"You're sitting at the bar drinking alone," Steve pointed out.

"And having a great time doing it." His next drink arrived, but the bartender didn't hand it over.

"Sir, are you driving tonight?" the bartender asked him. 

"He's not," Steve said, before Tony could answer. He wasn't, of course. They were using Tony's limo--well, officially it belonged to Stark Industries, but it was the one always available for his use. "I'll make sure he gets home all right." 

The bartender seemed satisfied; she set Tony's drink in front of him and moved away to serve someone else.

"I can get home by myself," he said. "The driver can find Avengers Tower, JARVIS will make sure I get to the right room, it'll be fine."

"This isn't like you, though," Steve said. He put his hand on Tony's shoulder; it was warm and heavy and Tony wanted to lean into it the way a cat did when it wanted you to pet it. 

Tony might not have been a cat, but he definitely wanted Steve to pet him. He didn't pull away, because Steve would either feel bad about touching him or ask questions, but he made himself hold still. 

He was going to have to say something. Not the full truth, obviously, but something that Steve would believe. 

"I'm trying to avoid someone," he said. It had the advantage of being the truth, even if Steve was clearly determined to be unavoidable. 

Steve frowned a little. "There aren't any villains here, are there? It doesn't seem like the kind of place they'd be invited to, but--"

"No," Tony said quickly. "I'm not expecting any trouble. I mean, there are definitely some terrible people here, but they're mostly politicians." He shook his head. "This is a Tony Stark problem, not an Iron Man problem." 

"You can call me naive if you want," Steve said, "but I'll never understand why you do business with people you dislike so much you're trying to hide from them at a party."

If Steve would just stop asking questions, that would be great. Tony knew Steve too well to hope for that, though. "It's not business, either. This is totally a personal problem. Nothing for you to worry about." 

Steve sighed. "Some woman whose heart you broke?" He sounded faintly disapproving. Of course he did. Tony was sure Steve disapproved of a lot of things about him, including the number of women he'd--well, Steve always said "dated," even if Tony hadn't actually _dated_ all of them. 

Steve would disapprove even more, Tony was sure, if he knew that they hadn't all been women. 

"More the opposite," he said, taking another drink. 

"Some woman who broke your heart," Steve concluded. 

Tony really wished Steve was stupid. Not only because he wouldn't have processed that so quickly, but also just because it wouldn't be _true_ if Steve were stupid. 

Steve sometimes pretended to be all brawn, no brains--or at least, no head for science, math, or technology--but he'd demonstrated more than once that it wasn't true. Steve wasn't on Tony's level, or even Sam's, but Steve was smart; he understood a lot more of what Tony said than he usually let on.

Sam had let it slip out once that Steve had a subscription to _Futurist_ magazine, at least in part so that he could follow what Tony was talking about. Tony had already been in love with Steve before he'd found that out, but that had made him fall even harder. 

"Sort of," Tony said. "And I'd rather avoid them, especially at events like this."

"Why especially here?" 

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Okay, it's not her, so don't jump to conclusions, okay?" When Steve nodded, he went on. "Natasha's a beautiful woman, right?" 

"Of course she is." 

"Look at her tonight," Tony said, gesturing toward the other side of the room, where Natasha and Clint were talking to one of the kids who'd received a scholarship. Probably doing a little recruiting for SHIELD, he thought. They could be just making small talk, but Natasha rarely "just" did anything, especially chat with a high school kid. 

"She's a beautiful woman in sweats and a t-shirt," Tony went on. "Dressed up like this, she's a knockout. Now imagine that you're in unrequited love with her."

"I see what you mean," Steve said. "So that explains why you're over here, but there's no reason you should have to sit here alone with nothing to do but drink." He put a hand on Tony's arm. "There's an empty table right there. Come on, let's go and sit down. I'll see if I can snag us some hors d'oeuvres. You need something to soak up the alcohol." 

Tony thought about arguing, but that was going to come perilously close to explaining the full situation to Steve, and he didn't want that. "Be there in just a minute," he said, and while Steve went off to see if he could locate some food, Tony finished his drink and ordered another. 

"Make it a double," he decided. Steve might want him to eat something to soak up what he'd been drinking, but Tony was determined that he was going to out-drink whatever Steve fed him.

****

Steve had been very persuasive, and Tony had eaten more crab puffs and mini-quiches and stuffed mushrooms than he'd ever eaten at one of those affairs. He usually got so involved in conversation with someone--or better yet, an argument with someone--that he forgot to eat much of anything.

Having Steve Rogers as his personal babysitter had made that impossible. 

But he'd still managed to drink more than the food could counteract. Every time he thought he might be sobering up a little, Steve would casually touch him, or he'd laugh at something Tony said, or the light would hit him in just the right way to make his eyes look impossibly blue, and Tony would pick up his glass again. 

At least Steve hadn't really noticed. 

He'd noticed the drinking, obviously; Tony had been the recipient of a lot of concerned looks. But he hadn't noticed the timing, and so he wasn't any closer to unraveling the mystery of who Tony had been trying to avoid. 

Tony had kept the conversation going--about the charity, about various people in attendance, about the work he'd been doing in the lab, about the team training session Steve had scheduled for tomorrow--so that Steve didn't get much of a chance to think about it, either. 

Most people would have been had enough of Tony's constant talking after half an hour, at most, unless they wanted something from him. Steve hadn't seemed to mind, which did absolutely nothing to make Tony less ridiculously enamored of him. 

That didn't mean anything, though, or at least nothing more than that Steve was his friend, and he'd known that already. It wasn't Steve's fault that Tony wanted more than that. 

But finally, Tony got a text letting him know that their car was outside, and with a sigh of relief, he told Steve, "Time to go home." 

Steve looked relieved, too. "Great," he said. "Not that I haven't been having a good time--"

Tony snorted. "You hate these things, Cap." 

"I do," he admitted. "But this one has been better than most. Maybe it was the company." 

There was still a little whiskey in Tony's glass. He gulped it down. 

"I'll go get the others," Steve said. 

"No need. The driver texted all of us, and unlike you, they check their phones." He pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. 

Then he gripped the edge of the table as the room swayed around him. He really hadn't been drinking much lately, had he? He'd completely misjudged his tolerance. 

And then, because this was just the worst night, a muscular arm went around his waist, and Steve nudged Tony's shoulder with his own. "Put your arm around me," Steve said. "I think you've had a little too much."

"I was aiming for a lot too much," Tony confessed, but he put his arm around Steve anyway and let Steve steer him out to the waiting limo.

****

Tony let Steve help him into the tower, too, and into the elevator, and into his apartment.

"Drink some water before you go to sleep," Steve suggested once Tony was sitting on the couch, and turned to let himself out. 

Somewhere in the back of Tony's mind, there was a tiny corner that was still completely sober, and that corner was horrified to hear the rest of him say, "You should probably put me to bed." 

Steve turned around again; Tony couldn't read his expression. "I think you can make it on your own, can't you? It's not very far." 

"I could," he admitted. "Don't want to. And after you tortured me all evening, you owe me." 

Steve wasn't coming any closer. "After I what?" 

"You know what you did," Tony said. "Sat there and made it impossible for me to avoid you. Even after I told you." 

The room was still spinning; Tony decided it would be better if he closed his eyes. Even better because Steve was still giving him a look that Tony couldn't decipher. 

That was why it took him by surprise when he felt someone--well, Steve, obviously--sitting down next to him on the couch. "After you told me what?" 

"I was trying to avoid you," he repeated, carefully enunciating every word as clearly as he could. 

It must not have been clear enough, because Steve just said, "No, you didn't tell me that. You told me you were trying to avoid someone you--" Steve paused. "Someone you were in love with, who didn't return the feeling. You didn't want to see her all dressed up, looking beautiful, and knowing that she wasn't interested in you." 

Tony kept his eyes closed, less because the room was spinning and more because he didn't want to, _couldn't_ , see Steve's face when he said what he was about to say. 

"Never said 'she.'" He was definitely slurring his words a little, but not so badly that Steve couldn't understand them. 

Or maybe it was that bad, because Steve's response was, "What?"

"Never said 'she,'" he repeated. "Not a woman I'm in love with." 

"Oh," Steve said, which could have been worse. 

Tony risked opening one eye partway to try to see Steve's expression. It was blank. Probably Steve was trying not to accidentally say something bigoted, while simultaneously being shocked and horrified. 

The man was from the nineteen-forties, after all. He was kind and compassionate, but that probably meant that he thought queer people were poor unfortunate souls who couldn't help being like that, not that he was actually okay with knowing that one of his closest friends was bisexual. 

And Tony wasn't going to stop there. He might as well rip the band-aid off altogether, if he had already potentially destroyed their friendship. 

"But you're right. Didn't want to see you all dressed up, looking gorgeous, when..." He shrugged. "'S no big deal, usually. 'M Tony Stark. I can find someone else. But you..." 

"Me," Steve echoed. "You were trying to avoid me? But we spent the whole evening together."

"That wasn't my idea." Steve's expression hadn't changed, so Tony closed his eyes again. It helped him feel less dizzy, anyway, even if it didn't help anything else. 

"Oh, Tony. I'm sorry," Steve said quietly. 

"'S okay," he mumbled. "We can pretend this didn't happen." This was the best of the plausible scenarios he'd envisioned if Steve found out. 

There were a lot of implausible scenarios, but Tony knew those were just daydreams. There were some things that not even he could have.

Steve was sorry. Steve felt sorry for him, and as long as Tony managed to not make things weird between them for the next few weeks, things would get back to normal. Or they should, anyway, because it wasn't like he and Steve hadn't gotten past a lot worse than a slight case of unrequited love. 

They'd rebuilt their friendship after Tony had broken up the team. They could do it again.

"Tony," Steve said, and Tony's hearing had never been affected by alcohol before, but now it was making it sound like Steve's voice was shaking. "Would you--could you look at me? Please?" 

Tony opened both eyes and turned to look at Steve, who'd turned so that he was facing Tony directly. 

Face on like that, Steve's expression didn't look blank. It looked scared. Scared for Captain America, anyway, which meant that Steve's jaw was clenched tight and he was looking Tony straight in the eye, because Steve didn't back down from things that terrified him. 

For a second, Tony felt sick, because Steve was terrified of him? What kind of a monster did Steve think he was? 

And then Steve said, "I'm sorry," again, but this time he followed it with, "I had no idea," before Tony could say anything, there was a big, callused hand cupping his jaw, a thumb stroking softly over his cheekbone. 

"You weren't supposed to have an idea, that was the point," Tony said, wincing at how loud his voice came out. 

"Does this look like someone who doesn't feel the same way about you?" Steve asked, and Tony struggled to figure out what he was talking about, until Steve pressed his lips softly to Tony's. 

Steve's lips were a little chapped and a bit dry, and the kiss was soft and careful, which was not actually anything like any of the first kisses Tony had ever imagined with Steve. There was a lot of him being shoved against the wall and thoroughly kissed in those fantasies, but it didn't matter, because this also worked. 

Good enough to make Tony swoon, or maybe that was all the whiskey, because things really were spinning extremely fast, and then.... 

....everything went black.

****

Tony felt like he'd just been the recipient of a Hulk-smash. He was nauseated, everything hurt--his _beard_ hurt, how did a beard hurt?--but especially his head, and he really didn't want to know what had died in his mouth.

By the time he'd managed to get his eyes open, he'd remembered why he felt like that. He'd gotten incredibly drunk at that charity gala. If Steve hadn't been sitting with him the whole evening, he'd probably have embarrassed himself enough that he'd be on every gossip site on the internet. 

Of course, if Steve hadn't been sitting with him the whole evening, he wouldn't have had to get that drunk. 

Tony didn't remember going to bed; he didn't actually remember leaving the gala, for that matter. The first thing he did, then, was to take stock. 

He was alone in bed, which was probably a good call. He had been drunk enough that the phrase "performance issues" would probably have been relevant. 

He was mostly undressed: he was wearing his underwear, his socks, and the undershirt he'd chosen so that the arc reactor didn't glow too brightly through his tuxedo shirt. As he blinked enough that his eyes remembered how to focus, he could see that the rest of his clothes were folded neatly on a chair, with his shoes underneath it. 

Someone else had put him to bed, then. There was no way that, as drunk as he'd obviously been, he'd have thought to fold his clothes. Even if he had, he'd have hung them back up in his closet, rather than putting them in the chair. 

And he'd have taken his socks off. He hated sleeping in socks. 

The "someone else put him to bed" theory was backed up by the fact that he'd been lying on his stomach, with his head turned to one side. Sensible precaution when putting a drunk to bed, but Tony wouldn't have done it; the reactor was uncomfortable when he slept that way. It was also supported by the large glass of water and bottle of painkillers on his nightstand. 

No, the three large glasses of water, though one of them was mostly empty, and the one small bottle of ginger ale. 

And the note propped against one of the glasses that said, _Drink all of the water. Take two pills. Ginger ale if you feel sick._ Tony recognized that neat, old-fashioned handwriting. 

Oh, God, Cap had been the one to put him to bed. Cap, who wouldn't ever get drunk even if he could, had been the one to take him upstairs and put him to bed. Tony wondered when he'd passed out. Hopefully not at the gala itself. In the car home? In the elevator? Had Steve had to carry him up to his apartment? 

And if Steve carried him upstairs last night, was it better or worse that Tony couldn't remember it? 

Unlike some of the living quarters in the tower, Tony's was an actual apartment: a living room with a small kitchenette attached, a bedroom, an office that he almost never used. If he needed to do Stark Industries business, he went into SI; if it was Avengers-related, he did it in the lab, or tried to get Steve to do whatever it was, since it was probably boring. 

And at the moment, he could hear somebody moving around out in the living room. 

JARVIS hadn't sent up a red alert, so it probably wasn't an intruder, and Tony probably hadn't locked the door last night. Or rather, Steve probably hadn't. Tony rarely did; the only people in the building were the team, after all. He only locked the door when he wanted to be sure of having privacy. 

Besides, Tony had a sneaking suspicion that he knew who it was. After all, if Tony had been in as bad of shape last night as he thought he'd been, Steve would definitely have wanted to come and check on him. 

Tony opened the bottle of painkillers and downed two, gulping down the second glass of water. He didn't think he needed the ginger ale, except for more hydration. What he needed was a cup of strong black coffee and maybe--

His bedroom door opened and Steve came through. "Breakfast?" 

"Oh, God, it's like you read my mind." 

"Clint and Thor both swear that a big fried breakfast is the best remedy for a hangover," Steve said, "but there's also some plain toast if you don't think you can handle that." He set the tray down on the bed. 

Tony hadn't even realized they had trays like this. Then again, while he'd had the tower built to his precise specifications, he'd left the furnishing of it up to a design firm he'd hired. He'd told them to thoroughly stock the kitchen. Clearly they'd taken him at his word. 

"Coffee?" he asked hopefully; there wasn't a cup on the tray. 

"Just a second," Steve said, disappearing again. 

Tony examined the breakfast tray. Fried eggs, bacon, potatoes, toast. Definitely not health food, but Clint and Thor were right: if he could get this down, he'd feel better. Luckily, his hangover hadn't left him nauseated; he was even hungry.

Tony had just pierced the yolk of one of the eggs when Steve came back in with a thermal carafe and two mugs. He poured out a cup of coffee and set it on Tony's nightstand, then poured some in the second cup and took a drink. 

Tony abandoned the food immediately, reaching for the mug. The steam rising from it warned him to sip carefully, but if he hadn't been afraid of burning his throat, he'd have gulped it the way he had the water. 

It was perfect. Exactly the way Tony liked it. It was even brewed using the beans that Tony kept in his own kitchen, because Hulk was not getting his hands on Tony's custom-roasted blend. The coffee in the communal kitchen was good, but it wasn't this kind of good. 

"This is amazing," he said. "The food's great, too. I'm pretty sure I don't deserve this, after last night, but I appreciate it." 

Steve's expression softened a little, and he gave Tony what looked like a shy smile; even the tips of his ears went a little pink. Okay, if that was what being sincerely complimented did for Steve, Tony was either going to have to do it a lot more often--if he went the self-indulgent route--or a lot less often, if he took the option that was less of a danger to his emotional stability. 

Then Steve said, "We should probably talk some more about last night," and Tony forgot all about the way Steve's ears went pink when he was embarrassed. 

Shit. What had he done last night? At least he wasn't a belligerent drunk. He tended more toward "I love everybody in this bar!" Sometimes accompanied by an attempt at a practical, hands-on demonstration.

Given how much he was tempted to make a practical, hands-on demonstration of how he felt about Steve when he was sober, the thought of what he might have done when he was blackout drunk was honestly a little terrifying.

"Yeah, about that," Tony said quickly, because if he could just give them a reason to sweep this all under the rug, it would be fine, they could move past it. Steve obviously didn't hate him, or he wouldn't have made breakfast, so whatever appalling thing he'd done that Steve thought they needed to talk about couldn't have been unforgivable. 

He took another drink of his coffee to give himself a chance to think of what to say. "You probably noticed that I was really drunk last night," he went on, still talking a mile a minute so that Steve didn't have a chance to interrupt. 

"So drunk that I honestly don't remember anything after sitting at that table in the corner and talking to you for a while. So I'm not exactly sure what I did or said, but I need you to understand--" whether or not it was true-- "that I say, and do, a lot of things when I'm drunk that I wouldn't even think about saying otherwise. So whatever it was, I'm sorry, I'm not planning on drinking that much again so there won't be a repeat, so can we forget this ever happened?" 

Steve didn't say anything at first, just set his coffee cup down on Tony's nightstand. Then he took a deep breath, and Tony braced himself for an inspiring lecture about personal accountability and responsible drinking. 

Instead, Steve just seemed to close down. He wasn't smiling, his ears were back to their normal color, and every spark of warmth in his expression had died out. "Yeah," he said. "That's probably the best way to handle it. And now that I see you're okay, I should probably get going. Training's at two; don't be late."

"I'll be there," Tony promised, and Steve left without another word. 

God, Tony thought, he must have been the world's biggest jackass last night. Hopefully, one of the others would be able to tell him about it, because it looked like he might owe Steve a more specific apology.

****

Tony didn't see Steve until team training, when Tony, Clint, Sam, and Thor were up against Steve, Hulk, and Natasha. They didn't have as easy of a time winning the skirmish as they should have given that they had an extra person, but they did win eventually.

Afterward, Steve gave everyone their notes about what they had done well and what they could do better, but today he did it without making eye contact with Tony. Even when he was specifically talking about how Tony needed to be more aware of where his team members were, he looked straight above the top of Tony's head. 

"Hey, Cap," he said when the discussion was over and everyone was starting to go their separate ways, "want to grab some coffee in about half an hour?" They usually did that after Saturday training sessions. It was one of the ways Tony tortured himself. 

Okay, it wasn't _just_ torturing himself. Tony genuinely enjoyed hanging out with Steve, getting the chance to talk to him as just a couple of guys drinking coffee instead of as Avengers. And when they went out for the coffee, they didn't even get interrupted, at least not by minor things like Hulk being angry about the lack of pizza bagels. 

It was just also torture, because this "unrequited love" thing had sucked back when he'd thought it was just one-sided lust, back before he'd realized the depth of his feelings for Steve. 

Still, he looked forward to it every week, and so when Steve shook his head, still not making eye contact, and said, in a flat voice, "I don't think so, not this week," Tony couldn't help but be disappointed. 

"Going for coffee?" Clint said. "Mind if I tag along? I need a caffeine fix." 

Which was how, instead of his weekly not-a-coffee-date with Steve, Tony found himself in line at Starbucks with Hawkeye. 

Still, Clint had been at the gala last night. He could possibly tell Tony what he'd done to offend Steve.

He waited to say anything until they were sitting at a table in the corner, Tony with an Americano and Clint with something that had a lot of whipped cream involved, not to mention the glittery purple sprinkles.

"What is that?" he asked in horrified fascination as Clint took a drink. 

"Fairy Dust Frappuccino," he said. "As much caffeine as a quad espresso, plus sugar. And it's purple." 

"It looks like someone blended a unicorn." 

"Want a taste?"

Tony held up his coffee. "I'm good, thanks." 

"What, are you on some trendy sugar-is-poison diet?" 

"No, and if you were hoping that I was so you could get my share of Mrs. Wilson's cookies, think again. I just like my coffee to taste like coffee, and my dessert to be a lot less...sparkly." 

Clint shrugged. "Suit yourself." He slurped a little more of it through his straw. 

"Hey," Tony said, "there's something I wanted to ask you."

"No, I haven't been using the reactor in your lab to make popcorn. That was years ago," Clint said. "If anyone's been doing that, it was probably Thor."

"Thor makes popcorn by hitting the bag with lightning," Tony pointed out. It didn't have a high success rate, but the coolness factor kept Thor doing it all the same. "But it's not about popcorn." Though he should probably have JARVIS keep an eye out for that, if Clint was that defensive about it. 

"Okay," Clint said, in between sips of his drink. "Shoot."

"Last night," Tony said. He took a drink of coffee to give himself a chance to think of how to phrase this. "Was I--no, wait. _How much_ of a jerk was I?"

Clint frowned, his forehead wrinkling in thought. "Average? Maybe on the low end of average."

"I mean on the way home," he said. 

"Oh, you mean when you were wasted." Clint grinned at him. "Still on the low end of average. You were actually pretty mellow. You told me that I wasn't as dumb as I look. You even defended me to Natasha when she told you I'm exactly as dumb as I look, but to be fair, I'd been stepping on her feet all evening. I'm not the best at that kind of dancing. I do a mean Electric Slide, though." 

Tony didn't know why he'd expected Clint to be helpful. Besides, there was always a good chance that whatever horrible thing he'd done to Steve had been after Steve had gotten him up to his apartment. But he had to be sure. "What about Steve?"

"Steve was sober and not a jerk at all." 

"I mean, did I do something to Steve?" 

"Leaned on his shoulder in the limo," Clint said. "Actually, leaned on him, period. I'm not sure how drunk you actually were, but you definitely took advantage of that." He smirked. "Though I'm sure that whatever you did, it wasn't anything like what you very obviously wanted to do. Not that I blame you. If I didn't have Natasha, I might be doing my share of pining over Cap."

Tony groaned. "God, do you think he noticed?" 

"He's not a moron, so possibly?" Clint shrugged. "On the other hand, he might have chalked it all up to your being very, very drunk, and not taken it seriously." 

Tony shook his head. "He noticed," he said, drinking more coffee and avoiding meeting Clint's eyes. "That's why he didn't come with us today. He noticed, and he didn't brush it off as just 'Tony's a very friendly drunk.'" 

Tony had halfway expected Clint to crack a joke about it, but instead, he just set his cup down and said, "Aw, man, that sucks. I'm sorry." 

"Yeah," Tony said. "Me too." Then he shrugged. "But he agreed that whatever it was that I did--I'm guessing the worst of it was after he took me home--we could pretend that it never happened, so he'll probably get over it." 

"He probably will," Clint agreed. "It can't have been that terrible. But will you get over it?" 

"Eventually," Tony said. It wasn't like he was going to pine forever. At least, he really hoped not. He doubted it--without any encouragement at all, even just in the form of hope, this was bound to die out sooner or later. 

"If you're really worried, you could always ask Cap about it," Clint suggested. "Wouldn't that be the reasonable adult way to handle the problem?" Tony didn't even have a chance to answer before Clint went on, "Never mind, I see the issue now." 

He rolled his eyes. "I could ask Steve," he agreed, "except that the time to ask him about this would have been when he brought me breakfast this morning, and I pretended to have a clue and not want to talk about it." 

"He brought you breakfast? Wait, is that why he was asking about hangover cures?"

"Yeah. He made me breakfast. So I guess he can't be that angry at me? Except he's avoiding me, so I figure I did something pretty obnoxious." 

"That's a safe bet," Clint said, "but the thing is, we're all used to you doing obnoxious things by now."

"I thought so," Tony admitted. "I'm well aware that I'm an acquired taste." He grinned at Clint. "But that's not really answering my question. If whatever I did last night was terrible enough that Steve doesn't want to look me in the eye and bailed on our post-training Saturday coffee, uh, appointment--" 

Okay, that was the opposite of smooth, but he wasn't going to call it a date, not in the middle of this conversation-- "then why did he make breakfast for me this morning? Making sure I was safely in bed, last night, sure, that sounds like the kind of thing he'd do for anybody, even someone who'd just been an asshole at him. I mean, he was willing to help Doom." 

Clint slurped up the last of his drink. "Sure you didn't fuck up this morning instead?" 

Tony shrugged. "I don't know how. He came in, said he wanted to talk about last night, I apologized and told him that I'd appreciate it if we pretended it never happened, and..." 

"And," Clint said, shaking his head, "you're an idiot." He got to his feet. "And I've got a meeting with Maria Hill in about an hour, so I'd better get going." 

Tony thought about asking him to wait, at least long enough that he could explain how Tony had been an idiot, but then he realized that one, he wasn't going to ask Clint to explain things to him--if it was obvious enough that Clint could figure it out, it was obvious enough that Tony could, too--and two, it wasn't like Clint would, either, at least not without a lot of smugness. 

"Thanks for keeping me company," he said. "And for the total lack of help."

"Any time," Clint said breezily, and left. 

Tony bought himself a second cup of coffee, one that he could drink in relative peace while he tried to figure out what had happened. 

Clearly, the problem was under-caffeination, because by the time he'd drunk half the coffee, he'd seen it. 

Steve hadn't been mad at him after whatever it was that had happened last night. He'd been mad after Tony had blown it off as "I do stupid things when I'm drunk," and asked Steve to pretend that it hadn't ever happened. 

So...whatever Steve had wanted to talk about hadn't been a bad thing? 

What the hell had he done, anyway?

****

Tony wasn't in the habit of showing up at Steve's door unannounced.

Tony wasn't in the habit of showing up at Steve's door, period. If he needed to see Steve, he usually asked JARVIS to have Steve meet him in the lounge, or in Tony's lab, or one of the training rooms. But he definitely didn't just turn up unannounced. 

Today, though, it seemed like the best way to go about it. It would be hard for Steve to avoid him if he didn't know that Tony was looking for him. So he got JARVIS to confirm that Steve was in his quarters, and then went straight there without giving Steve a heads-up first. 

"This isn't a good--" Steve said when he opened the door, then broke off. "Tony." 

"I beg to differ. This is an excellent Tony. Top of the line, satisfaction guaranteed." 

" _Time_ ," Steve clarified. "This isn't a good time. I was in the middle of something." 

Tony noticed now that Steve had a paintbrush in his hand. "Sorry about that," he said. "This won't take long." 

"Is it an emergency? Because otherwise, if we can do this later..." Steve waved the paintbrush in the air, getting a few drops of red paint on his shirt.

"It's not an emergency," Tony said, and then stuck his foot in the doorway so that Steve couldn't close it on him. "But if I put this off, it's going to make it a lot easier for you to avoid me, because you know I'm looking for you. So let's not do that."

Steve sighed. "All right, come in." 

Tony went over to sit on the couch, trying to seem nonchalant. "I think we misunderstood one another this morning," he said, before Steve could say anything else. 

"I don't think so." Steve went over to fuss with the easel, turning it so that Tony couldn't see what he'd been painting. Not that he'd been trying, of course. "You made it clear that everything you said and did last night was purely because you were drunk, and that it wouldn't be repeated. That's not all that open to misinterpretation."

"Yes and no," Tony said. "I mean, yes, that's basically what I said, and you understood it fine, but what you don't understand is that _I have no idea what I said or did last night_." He shrugged. "I was assuming, since we needed to talk about it, that it was something I ought to apologize for and promise to never repeat." 

Steve sat down now, on the other of the couches in the room. Tony didn't know why he'd had the decorators put two couches in this room. It wasn't like Steve was going to be throwing parties in here. It wasn't like Steve was going to be throwing parties, period, but if he did, he could have held them in the lounge. And having two couches made it too easy for Steve to put a lot of space in between them. 

Tony didn't like that Steve clearly felt the need to put a lot of space in between them. That was something new, and it was his fault. 

"What did you think you did?" Steve asked. 

"Damned if I know. I was guessing something offensive and inappropriate and totally unwelcome. Grabbed your ass in the elevator? Nuzzled your neck in the limo?" Might as well go for broke. "Offered you a blow job when you brought me back up to my place? They're all plausible. But like I said, I wouldn't do any of that when I was sober, because I might not be the greatest guy in the universe, but I'm not _that_ kind of guy." 

Steve was silent, though even at this distance, Tony could see the color that rose in his cheeks as Tony listed off the possibilities that he'd considered for what he'd done to Steve last night. 

Well, he was committed now. It'd be better to go on than to leave it here. "But the thing is, I realized something. To be honest, as much as I hate to admit this, Clint helped me figure something out. If I'd done that, you'd have been mad at me last night. You probably would have made sure I got to bed safely, and you might even have left water and ibuprofen out for me, because you're a good person."

Steve nodded. "You're probably right," he said. "Having you show up to team training with a miserable hangover would be punishing the whole team, no matter how annoyed I was with you." 

"I know I'm right," Tony said. "But you came back up here to bring me coffee and breakfast. That's not just what any concerned colleague would do; that's above and beyond. So you weren't mad at me then."

"I'm not mad at you now," Steve said. "But like I said, I'm in the middle of something, so could you get to the point?" 

Steve could say he wasn't angry all he wanted to; he really needed to send his body language that memo if he wanted to be believable. 

"The point," Tony said. "Okay, sure. The point is that what got you so pissed off at me that you wouldn't even look at me this afternoon, you blew me off for coffee, and you're acting like you can't wait to get rid of me now--that happened this morning, didn't it?" 

"I'm not angry," Steve said. "I'm tired. I had a long night last night, and I got up early. That's all this is, Tony, I swear." 

"Fine." Tony sighed. He was right, he knew it. But if Steve wouldn't admit that, it didn't matter. "Then just tell me one thing, and I'll go. What happened last night that you wanted to talk about, before I started apologizing for things that I didn't even remember doing?"

Now Steve didn't look angry. He looked tired, just like he'd said. "All right," he said. "I guess I owe you that much." He got up, crossing the room to join Tony on the couch. 

That was a good sign, Tony thought, and then all he could think was a set of variations on the theme of " _What_?" as Steve kissed him. 

"That's what happened," Steve said. "You told me that you have, uh, feelings for me, and then we kissed, and then you passed out." 

And then, Tony had woken up and immediately sworn to Steve that everything he'd said and done the night before had been the alcohol talking, and that it would never be repeated again. 

Okay, it made perfect sense now that Steve would be pissed off at him. Hell, Tony was pissed off at himself. 

"See," Tony said, and then stopped, because all he could actually think to say was, "Well, shit." He took a deep breath and tried again. 

"If I remembered that, this morning would have gone very differently," he said. "I thought I'd done something terrible, or at least hugely inappropriate, and I wanted to avoid a conversation that involved you being understanding. I didn't think I could handle being understood, not with a hangover. Not when 'understanding' is shorthand for 'please don't ever do that again, Tony, I'm trying hard not to run away screaming.'" 

"I didn't run away screaming," Steve said. His expression had softened. He still looked annoyed with Tony, but it was the usual kind of annoyance, the "you're impossible, Tony Stark," that Tony always let himself believe had some fondness behind it, too.

"No, you didn't," Tony agreed. "You came back in the morning with breakfast."

"I came back ready to have an adult conversation about what happened last night." Steve smiled. "I probably should have known better than to expect that." 

Tony laughed. "Hey, I can be an adult, when no other options are available." Then, hopefully, he added, "I could try it now? I jumped to conclusions this morning. I'm not going to say I panicked, but I did something that could look a lot like panicking, in the correct light." 

Steve sighed and ran a hand over his eyes for a moment. "And I should have made sure that you knew what you were apologizing for," he said. "So yes, how about we start that conversation over again." 

"There was coffee," Tony said hopefully. 

"I'm not making coffee. We can have coffee later, maybe, if this conversation goes well." 

"I was also in bed." Tony leered at Steve, exaggeratedly enough that Steve laughed in spite of himself. 

"Later, maybe," he repeated, and Tony grinned. That did sound promising. "But let's skip all the stage dressing and go straight to the point. We still should probably talk about what happened last night." 

Tony swallowed hard. "Yeah, I guess we should," he said. "That's not exactly how I would have wanted that conversation to happen. But--" He shrugged. "You were hot, and I was trying not to notice that, and there was a bar. And then you kept being sympathetic about this person I wanted and couldn't have, and it just spilled out." 

"Do you want us to pretend you never said anything about it?" Steve offered. 

"Not really," Tony said. "Maybe a little, if you're going to tell me you had time to think about it and I'm really not your type. But no. I'm not that kind of a coward."

"I had time to think about it," Steve said, and Tony tried not to grimace. "And despite the fact that you're an unbelievably frustrating human being sometimes, you really are my type." 

"Maybe 'unbelievably frustrating' is your type." 

"It's possible," Steve admitted. "I'm glad you told me. I'm sorry you told me when you were two minutes from passing out drunk, but I'm still glad you told me." His hand was on Tony's knee now, warm and reassuring through Tony's jeans. 

"I'm sober now," Tony said. "And I still feel the same way. It's not just that I think you're hot. I think a lot of people are hot. I occasionally think Hawkeye is hot." 

"Let me guess, it's the biceps?" Steve said, and Tony couldn't hold back a burst of surprised laughter. 

"It is totally the biceps," he agreed, "and thanks for confirming that you're definitely not straight." 

"I told you that last night," Steve said, squeezing Tony's knee lightly, "though that's another thing you probably don't remember." 

"I don't, but checking out Clint's arms is all the proof I need. Anyway," he said, "getting back to the subject at hand. If I just thought you were attractive, that would be fine." 

"But you don't?"

"In spite of my better judgment, I don't. I don't know what I told you last night after we got back, but I do remember telling you at the gala that I was trying to avoid someone I'd fallen in unrequited love with." Tony put his hand over Steve's, enjoying the permission to touch. He'd always taken every opportunity to touch Steve, but never like this.

"But you didn't," Steve said. 

"No, you were difficult to avoid." 

Steve huffed a little in frustration, and Tony smiled. 

"I meant, if you remembered last night at all, you'd know that it isn't unrequited. Why do you think I was so happy to keep you company all evening?" 

Tony shrugged. "Because you hate big flashy events. Because you didn't approve of how much I was drinking. Because you felt sorry for me. Am I wrong?"

"I felt bad for you," Steve corrected him. "Sympathy, not pity. I've been in that position before, and I knew how you must be feeling." 

Then he shook his head. "I was in that position last night, or so I thought, and finding out--again, so I thought--that there was some woman you were so much in love with that it was making you miserable, and she didn't want you? I didn't want to leave you alone and miserable."

"Because you're just too good a person to do that?" He was fishing, and he knew it. 

Steve took the bait, though. "Because I'm in love with you."

"Wow," Tony said, which wasn't the suavest response, but was definitely heartfelt. "We've been wasting a lot of time." 

"Have any suggestions for how we should make up for all that wasted time?" 

"A couple," he admitted. "But let's take things slow, yeah? I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea about my intentions." He leaned closer, kissing Steve gently. Kissing him did feel familiar, and not just because of their earlier kiss this afternoon; he supposed his subconscious hadn't completely forgotten what happened when he blacked out last night. 

He was never drinking that much again. Not even if Steve left him and he had to watch Steve from afar, being drooled over by most of Manhattan. Blacking out when you had access to multiple flying suits of armor was an even more terrible idea than Tony was willing to go along with, and he had an affinity for things other people thought were terrible ideas. 

Kissing Steve, on the other hand, wasn't a terrible idea. It was the _best_ idea.

But Steve was from an era where people didn't just jump into bed together. Well, people being people, Tony thought they probably did, but they didn't think they were supposed to. 

So even though they'd known one another long enough that the "getting to know you" part of dating wasn't strictly necessary, they were going to do it anyway, just so Steve knew how very seriously Tony was taking this. 

So after one more kiss, even though Steve's hands were running over his back and he really wanted to feel the on his skin, Tony pulled away again. 

"Tonight," he said. "Eight o'clock. Wear something nice." He paused. "If you need help picking something out, ask Sam or Natasha. On no account ask Clint." 

"What about Thor?" Steve asked, with a mischievous smile. 

"Sure, if you want to go out to dinner wearing armor and a cape, ask Thor. That's going to be on you." 

"You wouldn't find it embarrassing?"

"I've been on dates with people wearing worse outfits."

"How nice is 'nice'?" Steve asked. "I'm pretty sure our standards are different for that kind of thing."

Yeah, they probably were, and Tony revised his plans for dinner downward a little. "For the love of god, no plaid," he said. "But beyond that, I trust you. You won't need a tie, though."

Steve would probably want to wear a suit and tie to a lot of places where Tony wouldn't; he sometimes still had trouble adjusting to how casual people's clothing choices were in the twenty-first century. 

But Tony knew of a steakhouse that was fairly casual and quiet, with seating that offered a lot of privacy. Great food, but not so pretentious that it would make Steve uncomfortable. And steak was a safe bet. Steve was willing to try a lot of things, but he was happiest with straightforward food that he might not have gotten to eat very often back in his day, but he at least recognized. 

"I don't want to go anywhere that's too trendy," Steve said. 

"Trust me," Tony promised. "Would I do that to you?"

"Yes."

Okay, yes, Tony had done that more than once. "Not on a date," he said. "Cross what's left of my heart." 

"I do trust you," Steve said. "Eight o'clock. Where do you want to meet?" 

"I'll pick you up at your door. I don't want you to think that I have no manners at all." 

Steve laughed. "You could just try to be yourself," he suggested. 

"I don't think I love what that's implying." He grinned at Steve. 

"Okay," Steve said. "Be here at eight. I'll be ready. And Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"You'd better not pass out on me tonight."

"I won't," he said. "I want to remember this." He was about to apologize again when he caught sight of the glint in Steve's eyes. 

Maybe he wouldn't get the chance to take things slowly. 

Maybe Steve had other plans in mind. 

Maybe that was going to be okay with him. 

But he was still never getting that drunk again, because he had a feeling there were going to be a lot of moments in his future that he wouldn't want to forget.

****

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on [Dreamwidth.](https://mireille719.dreamwidth.org/)


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